


Escape (The Piña Colada Song)

by talkingismylife



Series: escape (the piña colada song) verse [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Brian hecks up big time, Established Relationship, F/M, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Tags Are Hard, based on an episode from Happy Endings, piña broladas forevah, relationship drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-09 12:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17406821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingismylife/pseuds/talkingismylife
Summary: Brian accidentally puts his foot in his mouth when the gang gets together for dinner.Freddie barked out a laugh as he clapped Brian on the shoulder. "Might be difficult for Brian, going back to the Crow's Nest. Full of bad memories and all that.""Bad memories?" Veronica arched one perfect eyebrow."It was his break up restaurant," Freddie faux-whispered lasciviously with a wink. "Took all his victims there when they reached their expiration date.""I'm notreallya fan of the Crow's Nest," Roger smiled sardonically. Brian turned to look at him, smiling slightly as he furrowed his brow."You've been? When?""You took me there once, remember?" Roger's smile turned sharp as the whole table fell silent. "Right before our first anniversary."





	1. I Was Tired of My Lady, We'd Been Together Too Long

Being in a band didn't offer a lot of free time, especially during peak recording times. So when the time finally came for the four of them to get a little down time, they didn't hesitate before jumping on it, planning on a dinner for them and their significant others. Fortunately, despite the short notice, Veronica was able to beg time off from work while Mary swapped shifts with a friend. Freddie handled all the minor details from where they would meet--at Roger and Brian's flat--to when, and even where. Unfortunately for the rest of them, he didn't quite take into account everyone else's opinion. 

"Guys, if I don't eat something soon, I'm going to vomit," John warned, reaching up to rub his temples. Freddie cooed accordingly as he leaned over to pet his hair. 

"So, pizza is out because we had that yesterday, and Brian can't eat meat so that gets rid of that burger joint," Roger grunted around the cap of his pen while scribbling down their options onto an old newspaper. "Sushi?"

"Oh gag me." Veronica grimaced. The group exchanged a look before pulling a face. The last time they all went for sushi, poor John was on clean up duty after Veronica suffered at the hands of bad shrimp tempura. "If you want sushi, count me out--I'll just grab something else on the way home."

"I don't understand why we can't just go to Marina's like we originally planned!"

" _Because_ , Freddie, our resident drummer has banned it," John drawled."Take it up with him."

"Hey," Roger looked up and spat the cap into his hand for better emphasis. "It is _not_ my fault Tim decided to become a fucking chef, okay? I refuse to eat something that he cooked, he'd probably spit in it." 

"He'd definitely spit in it," Brian and Mary laughed together, before a well aimed elbow to the side drew a grunt from Brian. 

"I'm sorry, babe, but it's true! You dumping him caused him to leave the band. It's completely understandable as to why he would still harbour any ill will." Brian wrapped one long arm around the scowling blond. 

"Don't act like you're so heartbroken over it," he snapped. "It all worked out for the better as far as I'm concerned!" 

"And I'm a better man for it." John and Freddie jeered and tossed their pillows at them as the kissed. Roger flipped them off in return.

"As cute as this is--"

"--Oi, fuck you, Freddie--"

"Some of us are _starving_ , okay? I need to eat, and if you assholes would rather eat each other's faces, fine! Go ahead! But allow the rest of us the ability to get dinner!"

"No one's stopping you from suggesting places, mate," Brian shrugged, tugging Roger back to cuddle against his side. 

That seemed to take the wind out of Freddie's sails. "I can't think of any place other than Marina's." 

"How about Grosso's?" Mary suggested. 

"No can do," John smirked, looking very much like the cat that caught the canary, while Veronica flushed a deep shade of crimson. "Ronnie and I have a life time ban after our last anniversary." 

"John Deacon, you dog!" whistled Roger. "I need to hear more about this!"

"Absolutely not," Veronica interrupted with a glare. "Chang's?"

It was Brian's turn to flush next to Roger. "Erm, we're banned there, um, too." 

"Yeah we are, baby." Roger tilted his head to press a wet kiss to Brian's neck before turning back to face the others. "That goes for that one Italian place off Grey Street, the little Bistro next to our old flat, and at least four other in the Kensington area." 

"Jesus Christ," Mary whispered, a little impressed. Freddie opened his mouth only to get a smack to the chest. "Don't get any ideas." 

John suddenly snapped his fingers, sitting upright. "Why don't we go to the Crow's Nest? That place has everything!"

"Ooh, yes, let's!"

"I could eat there." 

Freddie barked out a laugh as he clapped Brian on the shoulder. "Might be difficult for Brian, going back to the Crow's Nest. Full of bad memories and all that." 

"Bad memories?" Veronica arched one perfect eyebrow. 

"It was his break up restaurant," Freddie faux-whispered lasciviously with a wink. "Took all his victims there when they reached their expiration date." 

The group jeered; John threw a pillow at Brian, who ducked with a laugh. 

"Brian, that's terrible!" Mary fought to hide her smile. "You had a _break up_ restaurant?" 

"I can't believe you," John cackled. "Tell me everything!" 

"Honestly, that's something I'd expect from Roger, not you--sorry, Rog, not that I think you'd be that sort of person, but--"

"You _did_ used to date quite a few people." 

"--and Brian, you just don't seem the type!" 

"Well, he was," Freddie crowed, toasting his beer to the memory. "And a right brilliant idea it was!" 

Brian, who had began to preen at the praise, bent forward over the table and steepled his fingers with a grin. "Ah, yes, the Crow's Nest. It was perfect; there's always an Irish band, the silverware is plastic, and the tables are bolted to the ground. No one else could hear an argument, little risk of getting stabbed, and, of course--most importantly--no tables could be flipped," Brian reminisced, a dramatically thoughtful look on his face. He smirked at the rest of the table, brushing off his brilliance with a halfhearted shrug. "The only time I ever went there was to dump someone." 

"Great story, Brian, but can we stop sitting around like a bunch of idiots and get going? I'm literally ten seconds away from killing Deacy other there and eating him." Freddie jerked his head towards John as he began to rise, grabbing at his coat. The rest started to follow suit just as Roger grabbed Freddie's wrist. 

"I'm not _really_ a fan of the Crow's Nest," he smiled sardonically. Brian turned to look at him, smiling slightly as he furrowed his brow.

"You've been? When?" 

"You took me there once, remember?" Roger's smile turned sharp as the whole table fell silent. "Right before our first anniversary." 

Brian turned an impressive shade of grey. "Oh." 

Veronica immediately leaned over the coffee table to grab the restaurant list, shoving it in John's face. "I think maybe we should do Italian, John, what do you think?" 

"Italian? Sounds wonderful--I love a good eggplant parm," Mary spoke just a tad too loud, arching her neck to look at the list. John, bless him, was doing his best impression of Rodin's _The Thinker_. 

"I'm just dying for a piss," Freddie announced with an awkward laugh. "Excuse me--"

"Does anyone want a glass of water--"

"--Or maybe a lasagna--"

"That would be nice--"

Amidst the panicked noise of the rest of the party, Roger glared at Brian, his face sinking from his cruel smile into a look of wounded hurt. Brian sunk deeper into his seat as the blood roared in his ears. 

_Fuck_. 

"Why don't you explain to me why you took me to your _break up restaurant_ right before our _first anniversary_ , Brian." Roger's voice was sharp enough to cut steel, doing very little to help Brian's nerves. 

Normally, Brian would consider himself to be a very smart man, and a quick thinker. But now, faced with an increasingly hurt Roger and a room full of his closest friends judging him for a past decision he hadn't even remembered until then, all the words flew from his mind. 

"It, uh, it wasn't just my break up restaurant," he stammered, placing a placating hand on Roger's thigh, "it was also my 'listen-to-this-great-Irish-Band' restaurant. And, and, a potential gig!" 

"Aw, isn't that sweet," Roger cooed, grabbing Brian's hand. For a split second he thought they were in the clear, until Roger picked up his hand and dropped it back into his lap as though it had burned him. "I don't recall you ever mentioning anything about you enjoying Irish music. What is it you always say? Too much violin, not enough rock and roll?" 

"Okay, hold up, before you two continue down memory lane, can I just say that I am _literally_ starving, and I think it would be best if the four of us just got dinner and you two talked it out," Freddie interrupted, once again reaching for his coat. The other three quickly followed suit, preparing to stand. 

"No need," Roger smiled, still using his sickly sweet voice to hide his rage. "This was great, guys, but I'm going to go to the pub and destroy myself. Next time, let's _not_ choose a restaurant that my boyfriend of four years took me to to curb stomp my heart. Please, enjoy the Crow's Nest." 

"Rog, baby--" Brian tried, reaching for him as he stood. 

"No," Roger barked, losing all pretence of any calm he might have possessed. "I'm going alone."

With that he stormed from the flat, slamming the front door closed behind him. 

There was a moment of complete silence; the rest of the group carefully avoided looking at Brian or at the shut door, the tension absolutely palpable. Brian struggled to make sense of everything, his mind reeling as he cursed his absolute stupidity. John rubbed his palms over his pants, attempting to decide who needed him more; Brian or Roger. The girls were still staring at the food items, refusing to look up until someone else made a decision. Freddie, absolutely frustrated with the whole evening and frankly on the verge of a nervous breakdown due to lack of food, jumped to his feet. 

"Right, well, since Roger obviously won't be joining us, shall we go to Marina's as planned?"


	2. Like the Worn Out Recording of a Favorite Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger found himself in a rarely visited pub a couple of streets away from his and Brian's flat. Normally, he would have gone to the one that was quite literally kitty-corner to their block, but the thought of Brian finding him so soon made his stomach turn. So instead he went to the one place he had sworn never to reenter after a particularly rough night consisting of sheer male hubris and poorly made vodka sours. He never imagined he would find out Brian wanted to dump him, either, so it wasn't like he had a fully planned itinerary of what to do if that ever happened. But, as he was improvising, he figured alcohol would be the best solution. Desperate times, and all that.

There is a little known art to storming out in the middle of a fight. First, you have to have the upper hand--there's no point in storming out mid-fight if you're _losing_ , because that's just pathetic and a sure sign of defeat. Second, you have to actually have a place to _go_. If you merely storm out and sit on the curb, that's even worse. And finally, if you want to storm out, make it hard for you to be found. No one wants a public scene if the person you were fighting with finds you too soon, or for you to be caught unaware before you've had time to either cool down or form the rest of your argument. 

Thus, Roger found himself in a rarely visited pub a couple of streets away from his and Brian's flat. Normally, he would have gone to the one that was quite literally kitty-corner to their block, but the thought of Brian finding him so soon made his stomach turn. So instead he went to the one place he had sworn never to reenter after a particularly rough night consisting of sheer male hubris and poorly made vodka sours. He never imagined he would find out Brian wanted to dump him, either, so it wasn't like he had a fully planned itinerary of what to do if that ever happened. But, as he was improvising, he figured alcohol would be the best solution. Desperate times, and all that. 

The bar was decently full; the regulars listing off their stools into their cups, a group of rowdy teens attempting to hide the fact that they were underage in a back corner booth, and more than a few couples and friends scattered across the floor. Roger trudged towards the bar, flopping heavily into a sticky old bar stool, raising his hand to get the bartender's attention.

The bartender, an average looking redhead with a permanent look of judgement, threw her dirty towel over one shoulder before leaning in to hear his order of a pint. Within moments the lager was in his hands, and, moments later, in his belly. 

"Another," he burped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Are you sad?" she demanded, propping her fists on her hips and studying him harshly. 

"What?"

"Sad! Are you sad? Depressed? Didja girl dump you? Get fired? Anythin' like that?" 

Roger squinted at her, unsure of what to say. "I guess...?"

"Then fuck no, I'm not gettin' you another. My shift's up in thirty minutes and I'm not getting wrapped up in whatever drama you've decided to drag into my bar. Jim! Jim, get yer ass out here, we got a sad one!" She stormed away from him, bellowing for someone in the back. Turning back around to see Roger still staring at her, she narrowed her eyes and pointed back at him, the universal sign for 'watching you'. 

Roger threw his hands up. "What the hell did I do?"

"Don't take it personally, mate," the new bartender sighed, brushing past the surly bartender to come to a stop before him. "Lottie's just having a shit day."

"Oi, Jim, I won't be having you make excuses for me!"

Jim ignored her, rolling his eyes. "Alright, what will it be?"

Roger shrugged, looking back down at his empty pint glass. "What do you have that will make me forget tonight?"

There was a pause, then a long exhale. "Lottie, you bitch," Jim muttered with a pinch to the bridge of his nose. "Listen, I could get you completely sozzled but then we risk losing our liquor license, you could barf in our bathroom--all things I really don't want to have to deal with. So why don't you tell me what it is that happened tonight and I'll see whether or not that's worth risking it all, m'kay?" 

"This is the worst bloody service I've ever had!" Roger couldn't believe his ruddy luck. Jim raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

"Well, then, mate, we're at an impasse. Either pick a drink or tell me your worries."

Roger blinked at him for five, ten, thirty seconds before giving up and slumping down. "Alright, fine. Tonight was supposed to be a great night, right? Just me and my mates all going out to dinner. And instead of having a good time, my best friend books us for dinner where my _ex_ works, and _then_ \--as if that's not bad enough!--we all decide to go to dinner only for the chosen restaurant to be the one my--" 

He cut himself off, suddenly shy to be confessing all this to a stranger. It was still quite humiliating. It had been bad enough for all of his friends to learn of their almost break up, but for someone that didn't know him to? 

"Look, first of all, I am a _brilliant_ boyfriend," Roger continued. "I made a bloody great mug of tea, I am beyond fantastic in bed, and I have never forgotten a single anniversary or birthday! I even fucking learned astronomy for him!"

Jim nodded. "All important qualifications."

"So imagine my fucking surprise when I find out that right before our god _damned_ first anniversary, I was taken to said restaurant to get dumped. DUMPED!" Roger slammed his hand on the bar for emphasis. "I gave him my heart only to find that all this has been a fucking lie, and that I was going to be thrown out in a shitty fucking Irish pub!"

"Hey," Jim warned, pointing a finger in his face. "Watch it, I'm Irish." 

"That is not the point! The point is that the person I thought was the love of my life--the person I live with, work with, have been with for _four fuckin' years_ \--wanted to dump _me_! In an Irish pub!" 

Roger found himself panting heavily, his heart practically in his throat. Embarrassingly, he felt the nasty burn of tears against his eyes. This night couldn't get any worse. 

"Well, that's certainly something worth drinking over," Jim agreed, kindly ignoring his subtle sniffles. "I think I have just the right thing for you." 

Roger nodded before coughing into his fist. "Any chance you also have anything to eat? I'm starving." 

"The kitchen's not open, but frankly, even if it was, that's not something I'd have you risk right now. I've got some peanuts, and some decorative fruit if you'd like." 

Roger had completely given up at this point and decided that was his life now. Jim slid a plate of orange slices, olives, and pineapple his way, a bowl of peanuts coming along shortly. 

"So, tell me more about this restaurant," Jim pushed as he began preparing his drink. "How do you know he was going to break up with you there?"

"He told me," Roger grunted around the rind of an orange. "He said, and I quote, 'I never went there unless it was to dump someone and crush their bloody hearts beneath my big stupid feet, so fuck you Roger'." The look Jim gave him was enough to have him swallow the pulp and shrug. "Well, the first part, at least." 

"Roger--can I call you Roger?"

"That _is_ my name." 

"Roger, I think you need to look at it this way. The man--what's name?"

"Dick."

Jim startled. "Really?"

"No," Roger sighed, "it's Brian." 

"Right, Brian. Okay, so Brian takes you to this restaurant--"

"If it could even be called that!"

Waving his hands, Jim turned away to pour the contents of his drink into a blender with a handful of ice. A minute later, the drink was poured into a stupidly tall glass, garnished with a slice of pineapple, and of all things, a colorful paper umbrella. Jim plopped it down before him with jazz hands. "Ta-da, drink up." 

Roger sized up the drink suspiciously. "What the fuck is that?"

"That is a piña colada. National drink of Puerto Rico, if you can believe it, and it will make all your worries melt away. Also I've put two different types of rum in it, so three more of these will have you crawling home." 

He took a hesitant sip before moaning in pleasure. "Jim, you bastard, I've decided. Fuck Brian, fuck the Crow's Nest--"

"He took you to the Crow's Nest? Oh, bless him." 

"--let's run off to Cuba--"

"--Puerto Rico--"

"Semantics. Let's run off to Puerto Rico and get married on the beach." 

"Tempting, honestly, I'm very tempted. But who would take care of the next poor sap that wandered through these doors?" Jim laughed, leaning against the bar. Another patron at the end called for a refill, drawing Jim away with a promise to come back. Roger sucked another orange wedge into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. 

"Hey there," someone grunted, coming up behind him to lean cockily in his space. "You come here often?"

He had never been more insulted in his life. Well, almost. The whole 'almost getting dumped in an Irish pub' ranked higher, but still. 

"Mate, can't you see I'm in the middle of nursing a broken heart?" Roger snapped, shooing the man away. "Jesus, can't a guy drink a fruity cocktail in peace? And what the fuck is with that line? Does that ever actually work?" 

"Hey, mate, piss off," Jim whistled with a sharp incline of his head. "This one's taken." 

The man backed away, arms up in surrender. 

"Men are pigs," Roger snarled, taking another vicious bite of fruit. Jim toasted the other customer's drink in agreement. 

"Anyways," Jim continued as soon as he had served the other patron. "So Brian takes you to this restaurant, right? And maybe he's going into it planning on breaking up--" Roger let out a wounded noise quickly drowned by a large sip of piña colada. "--Or maybe he just panicked and thought, this place, while being a dump and serving the poorest excuse for fish n'chips this side of the city, would be great for a date." 

"But he said he's only ever gone there to dump someone," Roger whined around the straw. "That means _I_ was going to get _dumped_." 

"Okay, but he didn't." Jim shrugged, reaching for more rum. Roger was getting dangerously close to the bottom of the glass, and he had a feeling this would be more than a 'one glass' sort of fix. Noticing Roger's wounded look, Jim sighed. "Look, the guy wanted to break up with you. Clearly, something changed his mind. Did you blow him in the bathroom?"

"No," Roger said sadly. "That was in the bistro by High Street." 

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Alright, so you didn't blow him in the bathroom. Did you tell him you loved him?"

"How do you think we started dating? I ended up crawling through his bedroom window absolutely shit faced at three in the morning singing _Today I Met The Boy I'm Going To Marry_ , only I changed the lyrics from 'boy' to 'Brian'." The straw made a gross slurping noise as he reached the dregs. "I was pretty clear with him from the start that if he finally ended up sticking his hands down my pants they would be the last and only hands for me until I died." 

Jim blinked at him, his hands still full of the coconut cream and a maraschino cherry. "That's...honestly, I don't have enough time to unpack all of that, but okay. He knew you loved him. So why do you think he wanted to give you the ol'heave ho?" 

Roger's vision swam. "Jim, buddy, I think there's something wrong with my drink because suddenly it's all blurry," he sniffled. Jim sighed, dumping the drink in the blender and flipping it on before reaching over to pat his arm gently. 

"There, there, love, it'll be alright. Whatever it was that happened, clearly it wasn't bad enough for him to actually pull the trigger, now was it?"

Roger gracelessly wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I guess."

"Maybe this is all a big misunderstanding."

"Or maybe he only stayed with me because the last boyfriend I had was in our band, too, and he left when we broke up. Maybe Brian only stayed with me because he didn't want to have to leave Queen, and he's only been hanging around because of that! Maybe this whole time he's been forcing himself to stay in a relationship with me for the good of the band, and I'm really holding him back from someone he really loves!"

"Doubtful," Jim snorted as he brought him his new drink. "No one is that much of a martyr." 

"You haven't met Brian, he'd do anything for the band. He even built his own guitar." 

"He built his own guitar? That's actually pretty fuckin' cool."

Roger chewed on the straw, nodding. Eyeing the cherry carefully, Roger suddenly perked up. "Wanna see something cool? I can tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue."

The man next to them, who had been shamelessly listening in, perked up as well, turning towards him. Jim glared, menacingly wiping a glass clean. Roger, completely oblivious, popped the whole thing in his mouth, his jaw working hard before sticking his tongue out a moment later. There, on the tip, was a now sodden but completely tied knot in the cherry stem.

"Jesus wept," the man next to them whispered before sliding from his stool and ambling towards the loos. 

"So _that_ can't be why Brian wanted to dump me," Roger announce proudly, holding the stem in his hand for Jim to see. "I mean, c'mon! I did that in like, twenty seconds! Imagine if that was your--"

"Absolutely not," Jim shouted with a shake of his head. "Do not finish that sentence or I'm cutting you off." 

That was fair. 

"Roger, I'm going to be completely honest with you. It sounds like you need to talk to Brian and figure out why he took you there. And if the guy stuck around for another six months--"

"What? No, it's been three years since," Roger interrupted. Jim frowned. 

"Okay, wait, this was three years ago? Mate, he clearly loves you if he stuck around for _three more years_." 

"That's not the point, the point is that he _thought_ about it! No, not just thought about it, he _almost acted_ on it! I was there! We actually sat through two different renditions of _Galway Girl!_ " 

"Hey! _Galway Girl_ is a fucking treasure, and I won't have you disrespecting it under my roof," Jim warned with a teasing grin and stern finger. Roger matched his smile around the now mangled straw. Jim went to help another customer after loading more fruit onto the plate. 

Roger slumped further in his seat while staring forlornly into his glass. Roger would never consider himself to be self-conscious or even insecure. He had always known his worth as a lover, friend, student, and drummer. He knew his flaws just as well as he knew his virtues. Never was he one to doubt his place in _anyone's_ life, let alone Brian's. After all, they had been together for long at this point that they were more the 'Royal We' than anything else. 

But this--this 'break up restaurant' struck a nerve that he had never even knew existed. If Brian was so willing to throw them all away before they had even really started, then what did the past four years even mean?

For the first time, Roger found himself really questioning everything. Three years ago, they had no record contract; John had only just recently joined the band; and they were only just beginning to pick up both speed and recognition. Had Brian decided not to dump him in order to save the band? Was that why he had stuck around?

The thing that really irked him, and the real root of his hurt, was the public humiliation. It would have been one thing to learn of it behind closed doors where they could fight and yell and explain it all, but to hear that he was at the heart of a joke only Freddie was privy to? To sit there while Veronica pretended not to see his hurt, or for John to look at him from the corner of his eye with pity--that was too much for him to bear.

Roger had never claimed that their relationship was perfect; far from it, to be honest. They had their rows like every other couple, and there was more than one night spent curled up in Freddie's bed pretending that Brian had never been born. But never had he disrespected Brian like that. Never had he even _once_ thought of cutting the strings and letting Brian go. 

Brian knew everything about Roger, and he--clearly mistakingly--had assumed the same. He wasn't kidding when he had said that Brian was the love of his life. Ever since that fateful day when they had first met, Roger had held Brian in a tiny little place in his heart that had, over time, grown to encompass all of it. Brian was the best thing that had ever happened to him, except maybe Queen. But there would be no Queen without Brian. 

Is that why he didn't break up with him? Because he wanted to keep the band together? If Brian wanted to break up that bad, Roger would have left the band himself before sacrificing the whole band, Brian surely had to know that. Thinking of the band breaking up--of him and Brian breaking up--made him only more morose. The glass once again was getting blurry, and no amount of sniffling was helping. How much alcohol did this bloody drink have, anyway?

"I can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?" Jim sighed, tossing cocktail napkins his way. 

"Do you think I'm pretty?" Roger asked pathetically. Maybe that was why Brian wanted to dump him, because he wasn't that attractive. "You should see Brian, he's so handsome. He's like, eight feet tall, and has _great_ hair. D'you know I had to bleach my hair last year? It was getting darker. Maybe Brian only likes natural blondes, and that's why he wanted to break up." 

"Roger, I mean this as nicely as possible. Fishing for complements isn't attractive." 

"Oh God," Roger whimpered, feeling his face screw up tightly as a hot flush burned across his face. "I _always_ ask Brian if I look good! What if he thinks I'm too vain?" 

It looked like someone had smacked Jim across the face with a two-by-four. He scrambled for more napkins, throwing them at Roger, who blew his nose with a sad, tiny, honk. 

"Roger, I'm just talking out of my ass. I'm sure Brian thinks you're very pretty. In fact, if I weren't in a relationship right now, I, too, would find you very pretty. Y'know, when you weren't snotting up my bar and scaring away potential customers," Jim said softly, once again patting Roger's hand. "As for your hair, I could barely tell it was bleached, and I'm a hairdresser. You did a very good job." 

"Thanks," Roger said wetly. "I don't know what happening to me, I think the chef is in the back cutting too many onions." 

Jim barked out a laugh. "I'll make that asshole stop."

Roger nodded. "You're a great guy, Jim."

Jim bent over the bar to brush Roger's sweaty hair off his forehead with a cheeky smile. "I bet you tell that to all the boys." 

"Only the ones that make the best piña coladas in all of London," Roger chuckled. He looked down at his hands, curling his fingers into his palms. "I just...I really do love him, Jim." 

"I know you do, mate. Now, c'mon, I'll make you another drink while you tell me all about Brian."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that is Jim Hutton. And yes, I too, can tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue. No offence intended towards any Irish person, _Galway Girl_ is damned good and I love it. But if I was about to get dumped while it played you bet your ass I'd learn to hate it. 
> 
> Also, question: would anyone be interested in reading a Maylor fic based off _The Host_? Asking for a friend 
> 
> Thank you to all the comments and kudos! I love each and every one of you <3


	3. I'm the Love That You've Looked For, Come With Me And Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was just as Brian had remembered--too dark, too smokey, and had an underlying stench of stale beer. At first glance, there was no sight of him among the patrons, only groups of rowdy teens and too drunk men attempting to forget their work woes. He was about to turn away when he caught sight of a golden head out of the corner of his eye. There, perched on a barstool, was Roger, chewing on the straw of a fruity cocktail and flirting shamelessly with a rather attractive bartender.

Brian used to consider himself a smart man. He had graduated with a first degree in astrophysics, built his own guitar at fifteen, and was, if he could say so himself, a damn fine musician. But never before had he done something so _stupid_. He should have shot John down the moment he mentioned the Crow's Nest, he should have flown across the room to cover Freddie's fat mouth, he should have confessed to Roger in _private_ years ago--hell, he should have never even _considered_ taking Roger there. And now, not only did Roger know the biggest mistake and regret of Brian's life, but their whole friend group knew as well. 

The confession as a whole had done little to impress the other two couples, who were growing increasingly more short tempered with each minute passing as they trudged through the cold evening from pub to pub in search for Roger. The obviously choice had been the one nearest to their flat, but after a quick peek it was clear Roger was not there, either. They had gone to the next three with the same results, forcing Brian to grow more and more desperate. 

"This is bullshit," Freddie grunted as he kicked an empty beer bottle down the street. "Why couldn't we have gotten dinner while Roger cools down?"

"Why couldn't you have kept your fat mouth shut?" Brian snapped, picking up the pace. 

"Hey, no one _asked_ you to take Roger to your break up restaurant," Freddie barked. "This has nothing to do with me!"

"Freddie has a point, Bri, this is your mess," Deacy agreed, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, Veronica curled against his hip for warmth. "Who knew you ever even had relationship problems?"

"It was none of your business!"

"Until you made it our business!" 

"I didn't even remember doing that until after Roger spoke up, alright? I was twenty-two and a fucking moron, it's not like I was a shinning example of good decisions." Brian ran his hands through his curls, desperately trying to wrack his brain as to where Roger would have gone to. 

"Is there any place Roger usually goes to when he's angry? Maybe a pub a little out of the way, or a restaurant?" Veronica asked sweetly, resting her hand on his upper arm. Kindness was the absolute last thing Brian wanted right now, and he couldn't help the anger that bubbled up in his chest. 

"Don't you fucking think I would have gone there if I knew that, Veronica? Jesus Christ, we've gone everywhere I could think of!" 

He only had a moment to take in the hurt that flashed across her face before John reach out quick as a whip and grabbed his upper arm _hard_ , spinning him away from her and towards him.

"Listen carefully Brian," he spoke dangerously in a tone that did little to hide his fury. "I get that you're stressed and you want to find Roger, because we are too. But if you ever speak to her like that again or take your anger out on her, I'll make sure Roger is the least of your worries. Understand?" 

As quickly as his anger appear, it vanished, replaced with shame. "No, of course John. Ronnie, I'm sorry, that was unacceptable and uncalled for. You're only trying to help and I'm making a complete burke of myself. Forgive me?"

Veronica rolled her eyes with a half smile. "Of course, Bri, I know you didn't mean it. And John's right, we all adore Roger, and we're just as worried as you are."

"No, but I'm the one who made this mess, you all shouldn't have to suffer for me. Why don't you all continue to dinner, and we'll join you when I find him?" 

Freddie opened his mouth to jump on the offer, but Mary quickly cut him off with a sharp glance. "Brian, don't be silly, we're not going to leave you. We agreed to eat together, and that's what we'll do." 

"Exactly," Veronica agreed, elbowing John, who muttered something under his breath, still holding himself tightly wound. "Now, where else could he be?"

The all stood together picturing where the would have gone if they were in Roger's shoes, when Freddie let out a long and rather pained groan. At everyone's inquisitive glances, he threw his hands up in exasperation. 

"Well, isn't it obvious?" he cried in a rather mocking tone. "The brat has _clearly_ gone to that shithole off Church Lane." It didn't ring a bell. Freddie raised his eyebrows. "The one with the _vodka sours?_ " 

John blanched green at the memory as Brian suppressed a shudder. They didn't speak about that night, not after everything that happened. In fact, Brian still had difficulty looking at a Cadbury Creme eggs after cleaning the after effects of that night from their carpet. Better left unsaid and unremembered, in his opinion. 

"God grant me the serenity," John prayed, running his hand through his hair. 

 

 

 

 

Only ten minutes later, the five of them found themselves standing outside the aforementioned pub, staring up at the door with wariness. No one moved--Brian, John, and Freddie were still reeling from the flashbacks from the last night they had braved the establishment, while neither Veronica nor Mary wanted to be the first to check. 

"You go first," Brian nudged Freddie, who scoffed, twisting away.

"He's your boyfriend, you should go first!"

"But he's _your_ best friend." 

"I vote for Brian growing a pair and looking first," John volunteered with a stiff clap on his shoulder. Clearly he wasn't yet forgiven for the comment towards Veronica. "All in favor, say 'aye'."

"AYE!"

Giving them all a dirty look, he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, shook out his hands, and reached for the handle, pulling the door open and stepping over the threshold. 

It was just as he had remembered--too dark, too smokey, and had an underlying stench of stale beer. At first glance, there was no sight of Roger among the patrons, only groups of rowdy teens and too drunk men attempting to forget their work woes. He was about to turn away when he caught sight of a golden head out of the corner of his eye. There, perched on a barstool, was Roger, chewing on the straw of a fruity cocktail and flirting shamelessly with a rather attractive bartender. 

Brian beckoned the rest of the group inside, shoving them all towards the closest open booth. 

"He's at the bar," he announced stupidly, rushing them towards their seat and shirking his jacket quickly. "I'm going to go talk to him. Stay right here, don't make any noise, and just wait for us, alright?" 

Mary unceremoniously shoved Freddie into the inside of the booth, blocking him in just in case he got any stupid ideas to 'help'. Veronica slid inside, followed quickly by John who slung an arm around her shoulder. 

"Brian, darling, _please_ , ask that lovely bartender if the kitchen is still open," Freddie begged with wild eyes. "I'm dying, honestly, I need _something_." 

"Yeah, yeah, okay, whatever," Brian dismissed him with a flick of his wrist, running his hand through his hair. He looked back towards the girl's, directing a nervous, "How do I look?"

"Very smart," Veronica complemented. 

"Smooth down your shirt," Mary advised, "and then you'll be perfect as always." 

"You look like a right twat," John shrugged after pretending to give him a once over.

Freddie nodded, "Yes, you look like the sort of knob who'd take his boyfriend to his break up restaurant." 

Not for the first time that night, Brian wondered who he had pissed off in a past life to earn friends like these. "Thanks, guys, knew I could count on you."

 

 

 

 

Roger was mid-story, regaling Jim with an epic regarding John, a rather irate police officer, and two litres of hot pink paint, when Jim cut him off. 

"Don't look now, Roger, but I think you've been found," he warned. Roger froze. 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, a group of two couples and a rather distressed looking man with the craziest set of curls just burst through the door and took over the booth closest to the front window, that's what I mean." 

"Shit, that does sound like them," Roger agreed, slumping slightly. "D'you think they saw me?" 

"Well, considering the man is currently making his way over here, I'd say yes." Jim plopped a freshly made piña colada--Roger had long lost count over how many he had had--in front of him.

"Okay, Jim, play it cool. We planned for this. We're calm, we're cool, we're easy, breezy, _cooool_." 

"I don't know who you're trying to hype up, but you better start planning what you're gonna say because he's here in t-minus three, two, one..."

 

 

 

 

"Hey, love." Brian spoke softly, trying to be as non-confrontational as possible, which was rather difficult given his six-foot-two form. Roger didn't even bother looking away from the bartender, merely planting his hand right in front of Brian's chest, keeping him an arm's length away. 

"Do not 'hey, love' me. Can't you see I'm busy talking to my new friend Jim?"

The man gave Brian a once over, raising his eyebrow. Brian hated him on sight. 

"This him?" Jim squinted, leaning in closer to Roger and resting his forearms on the bar. "Jesus, you weren't kidding about the hair."

Brian imagined him slipping straight into oncoming traffic and getting run over by two lorries and a tractor. 

"See? I told you," Roger nodded. "All legs and hair." 

Roger was too focused on his drink to notice the glare Jim was levelling at Brian over his head. Brian returned the sentiment, now picturing Jim getting crushed by a boulder. The image was oddly satisfying. 

When the silence grew too loud, Roger looked up, flicking his eyes back and forth between Jim to Brian. Rolling his eyes as he grabbed for a piece of pineapple, he immediately took a rather large bite. "Down, boy, Brian could take you in a fight." 

Brian narrowed his eyes further, rolling back his shoulders to appear bigger than his lanky frame revealed. He did have to admit to himself that it was flattering Roger thought so highly of his fighting abilities because Jim had at least thirty pounds on him, fifteen of which surely were muscle. That wasn't to say Brian wouldn't fight him for Roger--he'd just have to fight dirty and probably kick him more than punch him. Freddie would absolutely murder him if he broke his hand two weeks before they were due to reenter the studio. But still, if Roger asked--or if Jim made a move--Brian would throw hands and caution out the window. Maybe even Jim, if he really got the adrenaline pumping. 

"Babe, can we talk?"

"Nope," Roger scoffed, turning back to Jim. "So, there we are, in fucking Cardiff, when--"

"Rog, please, just let me explain--"

Roger turned around so suddenly his neck cracked. While Brian had never actually stared down certain death, he couldn't help but feel like prey pinned by his gaze, so much anger in his eyes that Brian could feel himself catch flame. 

"Brian, you are ruining the _incredibly_ delightful piña colada dear Jim has made for me. Kindly do not return until it is finished, m'kay?" He turned back to Jim, who was doing little to hide his amusement. "Anyways, so we're just leaving the bar, right? And John fucking walks _straight_ into a bucket of paint!" 

Brian deflated into a slump, turning back towards their booth. Each step away from him felt like walking in lead boots, but the last thing he wanted was to upset Roger further. 

When he had returned, Freddie practically threw himself over Mary in his haste to look for food. "Did you ask if the kitchen is still open? Or if there's anything to eat?"

"No," Brian grunted, hip-checking Deacy further into the booth. "I did not."

"What bloody good are you?" Freddie practically shrieked as he dropped his head onto the table with a loud _thunk_. "Mary, my sweet, my darling, please, remember me fondly when I waste away from starvation." 

Mary, used to his level of dramatics, hummed in agreement without turning away from Veronica's story. 

Only Deacy cared to hear of what happened. "No dice?"

"No dice. Apparently I'm ruining ' _Jim's perfect piña colada_ ' and can only return once it's finished," he grunted, dropping his head into his hands. "I'm a complete arse." 

"Yeah, but you're our arse," John shrugged, ever the charmer. 

 

 

 

 

"Is he still looking?" Roger whispered, furrowing his brow. Jim glanced over at the booth, watching as Brian dropped his head into his hands. 

"Nope, looks like he's moping." 

"Good," Roger nodded once. "He deserves it." 

"You're really going to drag this out, aren't you?"

" _Break up restaurant_ , Jim. Break. Up. Restaurant." 

 

 

 

 

"Is he any closer to finishing his drink?" Veronica asked patiently. "Because I'd love to go to dinner, but I'm too invested in seeing how this plays out to leave." 

"Ditto."

"Me three."

"Me four."

"Fuck all of you," Brian snapped. "Here I am, about to get dumped--"

"To be fair," Deacy shrugged, "you were originally going to dump him." 

"Three years ago! And I had my reasons!" Brian yelped. The other four blinked at him, waiting to hear it. Flushing, Brian slunk down in his seat. "I never said they were good ones. And I don't have to tell you!"

"Mate," Deacy threatened. "It is currently nine-thirty pm. We were supposed to eat dinner two hours ago. We spent an hour running around in the cold looking for Roger, who you pissed off enough for him to hide from you in the world's saddest pub. If you owe anyone the truth-- _other than Roger_ \--it's us." 

Brian found it hard to argue with that logic. "You're right, but I'm not going to tell you before I tell Roger. That's not fair to him." 

"You know what's not fair to him?" Freddie snapped. "Having him watch his best friend _die_ because there is no fucking food!"

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Deacy threw his hands in the air before shoving at Brian's shoulder for him to move. "I can't fucking take your whinging any more! I need a drink." 

"Ooh, while you're there, honey, can you get me a Cosmo?" Veronica called. John nodded, flapping his hand in acceptance. 

 

 

 

 

"Shit, one of them is coming this way," Jim muttered, steadily cleaning the same glass. Roger's eyes widened. 

"Brian?"

"No, not Brian, the one with the face and the long hair. _Not_ the cute one." Jim watched the man get steadily closer, a stormy look on his face. "He looks like he'd like nothing more than to slap you stupid." 

Roger relaxed. "Oh, that's just Deacy. He always looks like that." 

"Rog, we need to talk," Deacy insisted. Roger looked over at him with insincerely wounded eyes. 

"Oh no, Deacy, don't tell me _you're_ going to break up with me, too!" 

Jim snorted, met Deacy's eye, and hurried away, muttering something about helping another customer. 

"Look, Roger, I can only imagine how you're feeling right now. But Brian honestly is trying, and he wants nothing more than to explain himself to you. Please, just listen to him? If you hate what he has to say, then I _personally_ will hold him still for you to break his nose. But for some goddamned reason, none of us are allowed to get dinner until you two work this out. So hear him out, kiss, and make up so we can get something to eat. Sound good?" 

Roger mulled it over a moment before turning away with a firm, "Nope." 

John looked like he was seconds away from committing a homicide. Jim, who had come back to see if John actually wanted to order something, scurried back away. 

"Roger--"

"Listen," Roger interrupted. "This is the principle of things. Brian does not just get to waltz back and feed me some bullshit line, alright? Do you have any idea how much that hurt me? To find out in front of all our friends that not only did he have a specific place to break-up with people, but that I was on the intended list? And that Freddie was in on the joke?" He paused for a sip of his cocktail. "Pretend for one second that Brian was Veronica. Would you want her to just wave it all away with some pretty words? Hmm?"

John's jaw clenched. 

"I thought as much. As for dinner, there is nothing preventing you all from getting food. You all have my blessing to leave, I'm not stopping you. Anyways, I told Brian I'd hear him out once I finished my drink." 

"Rog, your drink is full, and you've been taking small sips," John pointed out tightly. Roger smiled brightly. 

"See, that's the beauty of it: I never specified how _long_ it was going to take. Now, do yourself a favor and ask Jim here if he'll make you a drink. He's rather brilliant at it." 

 

 

 

 

John returned ten minutes later with two cocktails, a bowl of stale peanuts, and a plate of sliced pineapple. Brian attempted to grab some of the peanuts as he hated pineapple with a burning passion, but Freddie had snatched the bowl clean from his hand and was shovelling handful after handful into his mouth like a deranged squirrel, only allowing Mary a handful herself. When he reached for the cherry in John's amaretto sour, he got his hand slapped harshly away. 

"John, please, you know I hate pineapple," Brian practically begged. Deacy levelled him with a harsh look. 

"I have decided that Veronica and I get Roger in the divorce," he announced haughtily. Freddie paused his inhalation of the peanuts with an indignant look.

"What? No, that's not fair, I called dibs on Roger way back when they first started dating, you can't just take that from me!" He turned towards Mary. "Mary, back me up!"

She shrugged. "It's true." 

Freddie squawked in triumph. 

"Ronnie and I will have Roger, even if I have to fight you for him," Deacy glared. "Roger likes me more, we're rhythm buddies." 

"Are you forgetting that we _literally_ ran a stall together for two years? Or that before _Bozo_ over there suggested they move in together, he was _my_ roommate!"

"Yeah, and he _willingly_ left that apartment! Besides, we're closest in age, it's only right for us to get him." 

"Excuse me? Age before beauty!" Freddie cried. 

Veronica leaned in with a sharp smile. "And pearls before swine." 

Freddie's gasp could be heard across the bar as John slapped a crisp high five against Veronica's open palm. "There, that settles it. Veronica and I will take Roger, you and Mary can have Brian." 

"But we don't _want_ Brian!" Freddie exclaimed, getting riled up. Brian let out a wounded grunt, causing Freddie to shrug sheepishly. "Sorry, darling, we love you terribly and I consider you to be my best friend, but Roger and I have a bond _unlike anyone else at this table_." He finished with a pointed glare. 

"Freddie, you're being rather ridiculous," Mary chided, looking towards Brian with a dangerous glint in her eye. For a moment, Brian felt appreciated. He always knew he and Mary were good friends, considering they had gone for dinner a few times until Roger broke into his room declaring his love for him. After that, well, it was only right of him to--to--

"Oh fuck," Brian whispered, horror blooming in his chest.

"If anything, I have a closer bond with Roger than anyone else," Mary continued, causing the sinking feeling to plummet in his stomach as he realized where Mary was going. 

"How so?" Veronica rested her chin onto her palm. 

Mary's once innocent grin deepened into something primitive, forcing Brian to sink lower and lower in his seat. He had never wished harder for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. 

"Well, you see, it's simple. Back when Brian and I were going out, before I was with Freddie and Brian with Roger, I, too, was once taken to the Crow's Nest." 

The silence that followed was deafening before all four began shouting over each other at once. Brian covered his face in his hands and slumped impossibly deeper into the bench. 

 

 

 

 

"Christ, Roger, the poor guy looks like he's two second away from grabbing a noose and hanging himself from the rafters," Jim whistled. Roger craned his neck, attempting to see if he could catch his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. No such luck.

"Is he crying?" 

"If he isn't now, he's damn near close to it," Jim observed. "Looks like he pissed off the whole lot of them. The little one looks like he's out for blood." 

"The little one?"

"Big teeth, lots of hand movements, looks like a warm breeze could take him down." 

Roger snorted. "That's Freddie." 

"Now the blonde one is laughing? And Deacy and Freddie appear to be in the middle of an arm wrestle. That's just wrong, Deacy clearly has an unfair advantage." 

"Eh, don't write off Freddie just yet, he's stronger than he looks and the man fights dirty." He squinted up at Jim. "Any chance you could sneak more piña into my colada? I don't want to talk to him just yet." 

"If that fight gets any more ridiculous, I'll have to throw the lot out, whether or not the two of you have spoken," Jim explained reluctantly. "Freddie's now spitting peanuts across that table into Brian's hair--now that's just unsanitary." 

"And a waste," Roger hummed. 

 

 

 

 

"Guys, guys, please," Brian begged. "It's not like Mary's heartbroken, or anything!"

"Whether or not her heart was broken isn't the point, Brian!" Veronica cried. "It's the principle!"

"There, see?" Mary swung her hands out as though Veronica had answered all her prayers. "That is why Freddie and I deserve Roger in the divorce!"

"No, nuh-uh, if anything, it just proves that you're closer to Brian! You dated him!" Deacy pointed his index finger accusingly at the two. 

Mary pulled a face. "Well, I wouldn't call it dating, we merely went for dinner and drinks maybe three times?"

"Four," Brian interjected with a defeated sigh. "I brought you lunch that one time." 

"Right, four times. Four dates does not a boyfriend make!" 

"Okay, okay, so don't I deserve _some_ credit for being nice enough to break up with you as gently as I could?" Brian argued. "I mean, I could have just stopped calling you!"

All four turned to glare at him in unison. It was easily one of the freakiest things he had ever seen. 

"Doing the bare minimum of decency does not make you a paragon of greatness right now, Brian," Freddie said sharply. Brian nodded meekly. 

"There must be an easier way to solve this," Veronica continued. "Maybe we could make a rotation! Deacy and I will get him Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday--" 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up, why do you get four days _and_ back to back days?" Freddie yelped. "How is that fair?"

"Because that's how the days of the week work, Fred," John snapped. "One of us will get more, it's how basic maths works."

"Don't you get that tone with me, Mr. Engineer, I know how math works! It's not fair that Mary and I get one; less days, and two; the shit ones at that!" 

Brian looked back over towards Roger, tuning out the rest of the argument. Roger had thrown his head back in laughter, his hair shinning in the shitty overhead lights of the pub. He looked so beautiful. Once again, as had happened almost every single day since he had literally fallen into his lap to give Brian the first kiss of a lifetime, Brian marvelled at how lucky he was to have someone as wonderfully beautiful, smart, and talent as Roger love him. Well, until all this bullshit happened. It was his absolute nightmare. 

"Guys," he interrupted tiredly. "Why don't you each get three days and allow Roger one day off a week? Or one of you could get the morning of Sunday and the other could get the evening. That way you could both get him for an overnight." 

Both couples immediately stopped their bickering. 

"That...actually sounds like a great idea," John admitted. Freddie nodded in agreement. 

"We could take him Sunday morning," Mary offered. "That way you won't have him utterly hungover after a Saturday night and risk him spending all morning in bed." 

"Thank you, Mary, that's awfully kind of you," Veronica smiled. She glanced over at Brian. "And thank you, Brian." 

He scowled. "Don't mention it." 

 

 

 

 

"Alright, mate, I think you've tortured the poor man long enough," Jim advised him. "I've already refilled your drink twice without him noticing and--actually you know what? Why didn't you just drink it slower? Why have me keep refilling it?"

"Jim, darling, dearest, my dude," Roger laughed with a shake of his head. "One doesn't merely _sip_ a piña colada. This shit is like liquid gold. You deserve a medal." 

"I'll bring it up with my boss. But seriously, put the man out of his misery before I end up having to call the police to explain why there's a dead man in my pub." 

Roger sighed. "I just...I'm afraid to hear what his reasoning will be. What if he thought I was annoying? Or he had cheated? I'm...well, to be completely honest with you, I'm scared." 

There was a lull of silence before John sighed for the thousandth time that night and leaned over the bar. "It's only going to get scarier the longer you put it off. Treat it like a plaster and just rip the damn thing off. The longer you wait, the harder it will be to hear it." 

Roger took a deep breath before tucking away his vulnerability behind a mask of happy-go-lucky humor and false bravado. "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, I walked into yours." 

"Yeah, yeah, here's looking at you, kid," Jim laughed as he tossed his towel over his shoulder. "Can I call him over?"

"Yeah, sure, go ahead. Oh, and Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for everything." 

A smile bloomed across his face as he leaned over to catch Brian's eye and beckon him over. "Aw, I'm just doin' my job." 

 

 

 

 

Brian sat bolt upright as soon as he saw the bartender crook his finger in his direction. He cursed, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

"What's wrong?" Deacy asked, pausing from drawing the sketching of the custody agreement the two couples had decided on. 

"It's Jim, he's calling me over. I think Roger wants to talk." Brian didn't move, paralyzed by nerves. The four others watched him, waiting for him to move. When it became clear he wasn't going to, Mary directed a sharp kick to his shin while Deacy shoved him from the bench, Freddie's loud voice admonishing him. 

"Christ, mate, what the hell are you waiting for? Go get him!" Freddie waited until Brian had left before leaning in towards the others. "Okay, who the _fuck_ is Jim?"

 

 

 

 

Brian stumbled across to the bar like a baby colt, all wobbly limbs and twisted feet. His palms were incredibly clammy with nervous sweat, forcing him to wipe them off on his jeans as he rushed towards his boyfriend. His boyfriend, who he noticed, was currently picking at the calluses on his palm, a terrible nervous habit Brian had thought was long conquered. The very thought of Roger relapsing due to his stupidity made his chest feel rather tight. 

He moved quietly into a respectful distance from the blond, trying to impede as little as possible into his personal space. The last thing he wanted was to make Roger more uncomfortable than he already was. 

"Hi, Rog," he said quietly, not unlike the way one would speak to a small child or a wounded animal. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he decided to just plow forward with the speech he had been preparing all night in his head. "Listen, Roger, you...you were right. I was planning on breaking up with you that night." 

Roger's frown deepened as he twisted to face him fully, the hurt clear on his face. "Aw, that's great news, thanks so much for the update." He rolled his eyes before hollering down the bar; "Jim! I'm gonna need another!"

"No, no, Jim, don't make another," Brian called, moving in just a tad closer. "Okay, so it sounds terrible, and it's no good reason, but I was scared. We had been getting so serious, and we were talking about moving in together and our future, and I kind of just started panicking. I mean, I don't know if you know this Roger, but you are way, way, _way_ out of my league." 

"It's true, you are," Jim added flatly, popping up to shove a glass of water into Roger's hand before walking away with a sharp scowl. Brian's fist clenched as he once more pictured Jim falling off a cliff. 

"I don't see what--"

"Just let me finish," Brian begged as he cut Roger off. When Roger didn't push any further, he continued. "I was insecure, and young, and just completely stupid." 

"I have a few more choice words, but please, go on."

"Anyways, I had gotten it in my head that you were going to find someone better than me. Someone better looking, or smarter, or hell, even better at guitar, and then you'd end up leaving me for them and I'd be forced to watch someone else have what I'd always wanted." 

"My rockin' bod?" 

"No, Rog, _you_. I've always wanted you; always loved you. And the thought of losing you made me so upset that I thought it would be better--easier--for me if I were the one to end it before you could break my heart." 

Roger stared at him like he was the dumbest creature he had ever seen, which he told him. "I cannot believe you would think so little of not only me but of yourself." 

"I know, I know, I never said it was rational, nor did I ever claim to be smart," Brian sighed, tentatively moving to place his hand over Roger's. When Roger didn't pull back or flinch away, Brian took it as a sign he could interlace their fingers, bringing the back of Roger's hand to his lips so he could place a gentle kiss on his knuckles. 

"So what made you change your mind?" Roger whispered, still not quite looking him in the eye. He didn't pull away, though, so Brian counted it as a win. 

"You got hit on," Brian shrugged. "Some drunk rugby player came up to you at the bar while you were waiting for our drinks. I saw the whole thing from the table. The guy put the moves on, laid it on thick, and you didn't even look at him twice, but told him to bugger off, brought me my beer, and proceeded to tell me all about your day. And I just remember thinking to myself, 'he could have anyone in the world, and he chose me'." 

All while he was talking, Roger had slowly looked up at him, a shy smile blooming across his face. Brian had never seen anyone more beautiful than him in that moment as he watched the love he felt for Roger mirrored on his face. He gently raised his hand to cup Roger's cheek, thumbing gently under his left eye. 

"And I knew in that moment that I would never have to go back to that restaurant." 

"Because I spilled my beer all over the power strip and got us kicked out for yelling that _Danny Boy_ was shit?" 

A thousand men and all their horses wouldn't be able to stop Brian's smile or his heart from growing ten sizes. "I mean, that was part of it. But I also knew I'd never need a break-up restaurant again, because I found a man who was _so_ sure of what he wanted, and he wanted me." 

Unable to hold back any longer, Brian bent to press his lips gently against Roger's, smiling into the embrace as he felt Roger kiss back.

 

 

 

 

Across the room, Freddie, John, Mary, and Veronica shamelessly watched as Roger melted into Brian's touch, curling into his space. 

"Aww, look, he's forgiven him," Mary cooed with a press of her hand to her chest. 

"Thank God, maybe now we can get something real to eat!" Freddie cheered around the two pieces of pineapple crammed in his mouth. 

John leaned over towards Veronica to whisper in her ear, "Too bad this custody agreement is practically legally binding. Next time Brian fucks up, we get Roger." 

Veronica couldn't help but give him her own kiss, cupping his face with both hands. "God _damn_ do I love you." 

 

 

 

 

Roger pulled back suddenly, watching in amusement as Brian tried to follow, his eyes opening slowly when he realised Roger was no longer close enough.

"Rog?"

"I need you to know something," Roger said, shaking his head so as to clear the lust. "You hurt me, and you embarrassed me." 

"I'm sor--"

"I know. I know you're sorry," Roger interrupted. "But that doesn't excuse the fact that you did in fact, hurt me. I'm not asking you to fall on your knees--" He broke off with a smirk, cocking one shoulder up. "-- _yet_ \--but I can't forgive you unless you understand. If you ever doubt my feelings for you, or our relationship, then I need you to be honest with me. I meant it when I said there would be no one else for me after I finally got you into bed. I'm in this for the long-haul, Bri, and that means I need to know that you are, too. No more keeping secrets, no more thinking I'm going to leave you for the next cute guy that walks this way, and absolutely no more break-up restaurants, okay?" 

Brian had the decency to look ashamed, ducking his head once more. "I...Rog, that night? That was the biggest mistake of my life. And I'd do anything to take it back. If I have to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, I will. But I mean it when I say that after that stupid, idiotic, _horrible_ night, I have never, ever, even thought about breaking up with you. I mean it." 

Roger pulled him just close enough to wrap his arms around his slim waist, pressing his ear against his chest to hear his heart. "Good. And if you ever take me to the Crows Nest again, I'll rip the table out of the floor and beat you over the head." 

"You do have _freakishly_ strong upper body strength." 

"Yeah, I do." 

The kiss itself quickly turned from an innocent press of their lips into something much more heated and dirty, quickly resulting in the two of them practically eating each other's mouths, Roger's hand dangerously close to getting down the back of Brian's pants. 

"Whoa, whoa, hey, hey!" Jim shouted, coming over to yank the two apart by the collars of their shirts. "Read the room, assholes! You're in public, for Christ's sake!"

"Guess what, Jim, we made up!" Roger announced, his hand still holding a fistful of Brian's left bumcheek. 

"I can see," Jim drawled. "I'm gonna give you both thirty seconds to pay the bill, grab your friends, and go before I throw you out." 

Brian hastened to fumble for his wallet, pulling out a few bills. "How many of those did you drink, anyways?"

Roger furrowed his brow. "I dunno, I lost count after the first three. But I don't feel drunk, just tipsy." 

"That's cuz I started serving you virgin ones once you began weeping all over my bar about how good this one was with his fingers," Jim grunted, snatching the proffered bills out of Brian's hand. Roger flushed a deep crimson but did nothing to suppress his smug smirk. Brian, on the other hand, pulled another few pounds from his wallet and practically threw the tip at the bartender in sheer embarrassment before dragging Roger away. 

"Wait, wait, hold up." Roger pulled away from Brian before sliding back up to the bar, grabbing Jim by the collar and yanking him across the bar for a sloppy kiss to his cheek. "We'll always have Puerto Rico," he promised, kissing him again before releasing his grip so as to return to Brian. 

Jim pretended to scowl as he scrubbed at his cheek with the back of his hand. But Roger didn't miss the soft little quirk at the corner of his lips as he raised his hand in farewell. 

"Roger, if I never see you again, I'll consider it a success," he called before demanding the whole lot of them leave. 

 

 

 

 

The six of them stumbled out into the night, clumsily shrugging into their jackets and clutching at each other's shoulders to protect themselves against the cold. Freddie led the group towards Marina's, bellowing that if they moved fast enough, they might be able to make it before the doors closed, Tim or no Tim. Unfortunately, they didn't make it in time, causing a rather embarrassing scene when Freddie collapsed onto the sidewalk in a pantomime of a toddler's tantrum. 

"Honestly, Fred, get a hold of yourself," Deacy scolded while the rest looked on in fascination. "Look, there's a chippy shop a block away that's open until midnight. Get up off the floor so we can go get a fry up before I end up killing you myself." 

 

 

 

And so, the group found themselves pressed into a too small and way too sticky booth in a chippy that smelled heavily of grease and vinegar. But, the food was cheap and the service fast, resulting in each being presented with their fish and chips in record time. John liberally slathered the whole lot in vinegar before diving in, while Mary methodically began peeling parts of the batter away from her own strips. Veronica was more focused on her chips, which she took turns dipping them into ketchup and mayo with equal measure. Brian and Roger fed each other bites of cod in between stolen kisses, grabbing the odd chip now and again. In fact, the whole meal was practically idyllic until Freddie let out a loud curse and shoved the whole dish away from himself in anger. 

"Fuckin' damnit, I'm not even hungry now after all those fucking peanuts!" 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the reaction and response from all of you has been so bloody amazing, i've decided to reward all of you and include a fourth chapter. no need to thank me, i'll accept gratitude in the form of flowers, champagne, and an unending parade of praise. 
> 
> but seriously, thank you to everyone for your kind words and comments! i love and adore each and every one of you. i hope that i was able to create something special and enjoyable, and that it lived up to your expectations. if not, then sorry my dudes, i tried <3


	4. I've Got to Meet You By Tomorrow Noon, And Cut Through All This Red Tape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the years following, Jim had long since moved on from his job at the old pub, but had tried to stay in the same general area. Life for him was a simple routine of going to work at the salon, going out for a pint or two with friends, and then returning to his cats in the evening. That was how he liked it--not too busy, not too hectic, just exciting enough to keep him going without overwhelming him. 
> 
> So when his buzzer went off one evening when he wasn't expecting a visitor, he couldn't help but immediately feel suspicious.

In the years following, Jim had long since moved on from his job at the old pub, but had tried to stay in the same general area. Life for him was a simple routine of going to work at the salon, going out for a pint or two with friends, and then returning to his cat in the evening. That was how he liked it--not too busy, not too hectic, just exciting enough to keep him going without overwhelming him. 

So when his buzzer went off one evening when he wasn't expecting a visitor, he couldn't help but immediately feel suspicious. He waited for a moment to see if someone was just ringing all the buttons in the hopes of getting let into the building before getting up from the couch. The second and third insistent buzz forced him towards the call box, grumbling under his breath. 

"Hello?" 

_"Jim! Hey, Jim, it's Roger!"_

"Who?" 

_"Roger! Buddy, it's me, c'mon, let me up."_

"Mate, I'm not joking, I have no idea who this is." 

_"You're killing me! C'mon, mate, it's bloody freezing out!"_

Against all better judgement, and out of a bit of curiosity, Jim buzzed Roger in, but not before sliding the chain lock on his door. After all, curiosity did kill the cat. 

"This is probably a bad fucking idea," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Five minutes later, someone--most likely Roger--knocked a quick rapid-fire beat against his door. 

Stealing himself for what was probably a murderer on the other side, Jim opened the door as far as the chain would allow. In front of him stood a man of medium height and build with windswept shaggy blond hair and wide sky-blue eyes. He was also wearing the world's worst rainbow-striped blazer underneath--inexplicably--a fur coat. Most importantly, though, Jim still had no idea who he was. 

This was not the case for Roger. 

"Jim! My god, man, it's great to see you! It's been, what, two years?" Roger grinned. Jim had the feeling that the devil had the same smile. "You look exactly the same, although I must admit, the moustache is lookin' even better. Tell, me, do you use any particular sort of wax on that bad boy? Asking for a friend, of course, I can't grow facial hair to save my life. Anyways, can I come in?"

Jim blinked. He had no idea who this man was, of course he wasn't going to let the bastard in, and he told him as much.

Roger took it all in stride, tossing his head back in laughter. He leaned in as close as he could through the crack in the door, smiling flirtatiously as he propped himself up against the doorway. "Aw, shit, Jim, of course, I'm sorry. You definitely had more of an impact on me that I did on you. You used to work at that pub over on Church Lane, right?" 

Jim nodded slowly, beginning to dislike where this was going. 

"Ever spend a night serving piña coladas to a mess of a man on the verge of a break up?" 

It took a moment for the flashback to cease playing in his head before Jim was able to properly react. Slamming the door shut, he shouted through the wood towards the man on the other side. "I am _not_ getting paid enough to deal with your shit one more time, Roger! Go find another bartender to torture, and leave me alone!" 

His indignant squawk echoed through the door before the knocking continued. "Jim, damnit, c'mon, I'm not here for emotional support! I want to thank you!"

"Okay, you're welcome, you can leave now!"

There was a loud groan and an even larger thump, followed by a quiet 'ow'. Looking through the peephole revealed Roger rubbing at his forehead, his face scrunched up in pain. 

"Look, I'm going about this all wrong. Can I come in just for thirty seconds? Just thirty seconds, then I'll even step right back in the hall. I just don't want to scream it in your hallway." 

Jim actually found himself considering it, which disgusted him. This man was clearly crazy, and how had he even managed to find him. "Wait, how the fuck did you get my address?" 

Roger perked up slightly. "Oh, I went back to the pub and asked for you. Lottie--you remember Lottie, red hair, surly, the last person in the world you'd want dealing with an emotional crisis?--Yeah she ended up being a big fan of Queen, and after an autograph or two, she told me your last known address. Honestly, it's sheer dumb luck you even still live here!"

It was as though he understood each of those words individually, but when put together, they made no sense. What did Lottie liking the Queen have to do with Jim now needing to move into a completely new apartment? He was already filtering through a list of things he'd need to do in order to move as quickly as possibly, beginning with getting rid of his old couch. He'd be sad to see it go, but honestly, it had seen better days and was a decade past 'vintage chic'. 

"Mate, I don't want any trouble, honestly. D'you--d'you have a piece of paper, or somethin'? I've got a pen, see, so I can just write my news down and slide it back under your door, if that makes you more comfortable!" 

The idea wasn't the worst thing Jim had ever heard. Worst case scenario, Roger would write his confession of wanting to skin Jim alive and wear him like a meat suit on the paper and then he'd have a solid case with the police. That is, if he survived the murder. 

"Jim? Hellooooo? You still there, buddy?"

"Yes, yes, okay, fine!" Jim snapped, scrambling on his breakfront table to see if he had a spare scrap of paper or anything. He snatched a flyer for the local take-out restaurant and shoved it through the crack under the door. 

"Oh, hey, I love this place! I should start going back, they make the best falafel this side of the Thames." 

Jim groaned, crossing it off his list of viable restaurants. He never wanted to run into this man again in his life. The flyer was shoved unceremoniously back under the door. 

"Alright, now this is a secret, alright, that's why I've changed the names and stuff. So don't tell people, okay? Don't want it getting out." 

With one glance, Jim realised why it was a secret. Roger had scribbled on the back a party invitation to the 'Super Secret Party for the Anniversary of When We First Got Lei'd' with at least ten exclamation points. Jim couldn't believe he actually found it sweet.

"Congrats...?" Jim called back, still staring at the flyer. 

"Aw, thanks, buddy, that's real nice of you! So anyways, you free?"

"What?"

"To come! That's why I'm here! We want you there, y'know, cuz if it weren't for you, things might have gone differently." 

Somewhere, up there, someone with a mean streak a mile wild was laughing at him. 

"Roger, I mean this with as much as tact as I can put it. I don't know you from Adam, and you want me to come to your--" he looked down at the flyer, "--Super Secret Party?" 

"Of course!"

"I've literally only met you once before in my life." 

"Yeah, but that one time was all I needed to know that we were kindred spirits. I mean, you're my 'piña _bro_ lada', and that's why I want you there! It's just a small get together of the people who mean the most to me and Brian, and our relationship. I would be incredibly honored to have you attend as our guest." 

"Define 'small get together'." 

"Honestly, it's just going to be us, the band, close friends, and those that work with us that we trust. And, well, you. Max, thirty people. Realistically? Twenty." 

Jim paused. On one hand, all of this was really quite sweet. Creepy, but sweet. On the other hand, though, it barely made any sense. Roger had only met Jim once, and now he was being invited to his anniversary party? Sending an exasperated prayer to the heavens, Jim reached up and slide open the chain, swinging the door open. 

"Alright, fine. When and where?" 

Roger beamed. 

 

Jim was finishing up dinner when his phone rang. Placing the soapy casserole dish into the warm water to soak, he dried his hands off on the dish towel stuck through his belt loop before grabbing the phone off the hook.

"'ello?" 

_"Darling, it's Freddie. How are you?"_

"Freddie, who?" 

_"Mercury, darling, it's Freddie Mercury!"_

As if a last name helped. "Sorry, mate, think you got the wrong number," Jim grunted before hanging up. Returning to the sink, he hummed softly along with the radio, pushing his sleeves up further in order to continue cleaning. He was just about to dunk his hands into the water when the phone rang again. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed it again. 

"Yes?"

_"Darling, that was rather rude of you, I must admi--"_

Jim hung up again. It took the phone ringing twice more before he answered, frustration bubbling in his ears. 

"Listen, mate, you've got the wrong number, alright? Stop calling." 

_"I do_ not _have the wrong number, I can assure you of that! Is this not a Mr. Jim Hutton who was invited to Roger Taylor's party just last week?"_

Goddamn, how do these people keep finding him? Jim pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, slow, supposedly calming breath. 

"Unfortunately," he hissed, "this is he." 

_"Well, then, there! I have the right number, don't I?"_

He found himself saying an apologetic prayer to whatever saint he had murdered in a past life. "Alright, Teddy--"

_"It's Freddie!"_

"Sorry, _Freddie._ What can I do for you?" 

_"That's quite alright, I can forgive you for it this once. After that, I'm afraid I'll never speak to you again."_

"If only." 

_"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"_ the man squawked, his indignation doing little to hide his amusement. _"I merely called to let you know there was a slight change in plans, and here I am, getting abused!"_

Jim rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Maybe he was being a bit rude. "Right, okay, change of plans. Is the party off?" 

_"Of course not! But instead of being hosted at their own home, it's going to be at my house, instead. Something about angry neighbours and glow in the dark garden gnomes. To be honest, I don't fully understand everything, but Roger asked me to give you a little ring to let you know."_

Eyeing his fridge warily, he wondered if he had remembered to buy more beer. He suddenly found himself in the mood for an entire six-pack. "Alright, give me a second to grab a pen and paper, I'll take down the new address. Is the time the same?" 

_"That, I couldn't get Roger to budge on. It's all Deacy's fault, of course, he doesn't want to spend too much time away from the little one before we go back on the road."_

Jim nodded absentmindedly as he searched for a pen. He vaguely remembered Roger mentioning they were in a little band, must be nice to get on the road every now and then, do a show or two. Good for them, it's always nice to have local bands perform in the pubs. 

"Found a pen," he grunted, wrestling a ballpoint free from his junk drawer. Alas, the paper was a hopeless case, forcing him to reposition the phone into the crook between his ear and shoulder so as to scrawl the address on his palm. "Ready when you are." 

Freddie raddled off the address with ease, forcing Jim's eyebrows to raise when he heard the postal code. Whoever this Freddie was, he must be loaded. 

_"Oh! Almost forgot to mention. Roger told me he forget to mention it was fancy dress. The theme is 'Jamaican Me Crazy', so please come in appropriate attire."_

"I...I have no idea what that means," Jim confessed, blinking heavily. "What does that mean?" 

_"It means tropical theme, dear. It'll be fancy dress, so please, come in your worst Hawaiian shirt or a coconut bra. Or don't, I think Roger wants to be the only one in a grass skirt there."_

He had so many questions, but felt as though they would be better left unasked. "O...kay. Okay. I'll, um, I'll get right on that, for sure." 

_"And I_ so _hate to do this, but Roger just insisted that I confirm you're going. You are, right? He would be just so heartbroken if you couldn't make it."_

"Um, yes, this Saturday, 8:30pm, fancy dress. I'll be there," Jim agreed, already regretting it. 

_"Perfect! Oh, darling, it will be so exciting! Just you wait, it'll be the most magical anniversary party you'll ever see."_

"Yep, sure. Uh-huh. Look, I'm gonna let you go now. But you have a good rest of your night, and I'll see you Saturday," Jim begged off, thumping his head back against the cabinet. 

_"Of course! You, too, dear!"_

Jim hung up slowly, feeling as though he had been sucker punched. His Mam always told him that in his life, there would be certain moments in the road that would lead him down a new path. He felt as though he wasn't led but rather drop kicked into a whole different road entirely. 

 

If you had told him two years ago that serving piña coladas to a depressed soul would have him end up at the world's most ornate mansion in the heart of Kensington dressed in a secondhand Hawaiian shirt bedecked with flamingos wearing sombreros, Jim would have laughed in your face. And yet--somehow there he was. Sitting on a couch next to a man who only introduced himself as 'Miami' and drinking a daiquiri from a whole ass pineapple. Of course there were worse places to be, but Jim was still struggling to figure out how he even got there. 

The moment he had been buzzed through the front gate, Jim had been yanked through the front door by an already tipsy woman who introduced herself as Mary and threw a lei of real flowers around his neck, pressed a red stained kiss to his cheek, and shoved the aforementioned pineapple into his hands before herding him into the living room. 

"Shell shocked?" someone next to him asked, taking in his appearance. "Queen has the ability to do that to you." 

"What does the Queen have to do with all this?" Jim asked, prompting the stranger to roar with laughter before ambling off without another word. 

Roger, at least, had kept his word. There were only thirty people in the room, but that was still twenty-nine people he _didn't_. know. Jim sucked down his drink quickly, hoping that he could track down the man of the hour, give him his regards, and then make a hasty escape before any more shenanigans occurred. 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear, dressed in a satin Hawaiian shirt covered in what looked like matchboxes, the front opened dangerously low. Two buttons on the bottom were hanging on for dear life, the only thing keeping Roger from being half dressed. His jeans were rolled enough to display a tad bit of ankle, showing off his garishly sparkled converse. He, too, had a lei of real flowers around his neck, as well as a red hibiscus tucked behind his left ear. Weirdly enough, he was pulling it off. Jim felt oddly jealous. 

"Jim!" Roger yelped, his face breaking into a childlike grin as he rushed towards the couch. "You made it!" 

He found himself suddenly with a lapful of Roger, barely managing to keep the pineapple from overturning onto the floor. Upon further inspection, the matchboxes on his shirt had drawings of naked women and 'for a good time call' numbers scrawled all over them. 

"Er, yes, hullo, Roger, how are you?" Jim grunted, frantically looking for a place to put the damned fruit. 

"I'm so happy you're here! Brian will be so touched, he told me you wouldn't want to be bothered, but what does he know?" Roger rolled his eyes teasingly before rescuing the fruit from Jim and passing it off to Miami, who took it in stride without pausing his conversation to the couple next to him. "Honestly, Jim, thank you again for everything." 

Jim felt his blush all the way from the tips of his ears to the base of his neck. "I really didn't do anything more than listen, Roger. You did all the heavy lifting." 

Roger casually tossed an arm around his neck, pulling him into a surprisingly gentle hug. "Nonsense, Jim, stop being so humble. You were instrumental to getting us to where we are tonight." Roger fell suddenly somber, ducking down to look into Jim's eyes. "I want you to know, if there's anything I can do to repay you--any favor you need--you just give me a ring, alright? I am forever indebted to you, Brian too." 

He had never felt anything like this before, that feeling of belonging so quickly. 

"Thanks, Rog. Maybe one day I'll take you up on that." 

Roger beamed. "Now, enough with the emotions! C'mon, I want to formally introduce you to my family!" 

 

Roger dragged him through the various rooms towards what he imagined would be a normal kitchen, if it weren't for the fact that it was bigger than Jim's whole flat, and nicer decorated. Who even was this Freddie and what miracle cure did he find to be able to afford all this? 

"Babe! Babe, look who's here!" Roger bellowed, shoving past a a small group of people. There, tucked away next to the fridge and talking to another man with an incredible perm, was a vaguely familiar looking man with a head full of curls. Roger yanked them closer, reaching up to pull the man into a hard kiss. "Brian, Deacy, this is Jim. You remember Jim, right?" 

"How could we forget," Deacy teased, just on the side of too dry. "John Deacon, pleasure to see you again." 

"Er, Jim, Jim Hutton," he stuttered, reaching out to shake the proffered hand. He had no recollection of this man, either. 

"And of course, this is my Brian," Roger introduced, finally releasing Jim's hand so he could curl it up under Brian's shirt--which was covered in starfish--onto the curve of his hip. 

"Hi Jim, so great to see you again." Brian actually looked like it was, his eyes crinkling from the width of his smile. "Hope Roger here wasn't too much of a nuisance, but, well, when he sets his sights on something it's hard to get rid of him." 

"Looks like that's worked out in your favor," Jim said without thinking. The three men stared at him for a moment too long, causing Jim broke out in a nervous sweat, immediately struggling to think of an escape route. Before he could even begin stammering out an apology, the three burst into raucous laughter, doubling over at the waist. 

"Ain't that the truth!" Roger howled, wiping at tears of mirth from the corner of his eye. 

"I like you," Deacy declared once he recovered, reaching out to clasp Jim's shoulder. It felt way better than it should, and he couldn't help but preen. Maybe this party would be more fun than he had originally thought. "Someone get this man a another drink!"

 

 

Jim lost count of how many drinks had been shoved in his hands over the course of the night. It felt like anytime he came close to the dregs, another tropical cocktail was quickly replaced before he could even request a new one. While he usually prided himself of being able to hold his liquor, he was beginning to find it rather difficult for him to keep his head straight. He was up to eyeteeth in alcohol, and it was beginning to show in the Irish flush broken out across the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. 

He was squeezed onto the couch between Roger and John, who had an incredibly drunk Veronica curled up in his lap, lazily sipping on a noxiously blue cocktail in a coconut while showing off pictures of their newborn. It was apparently their first real night out after the birth of their son two months earlier, and she had only just been given the 'all clear' for alcohol. ("And sex," she informed him over photos of a too-squished looking baby. Jim had no idea what to say to that. John, instead of being embarrassed, as Jim would have been, merely grinned salaciously and pulled Veronica's hips back tighter to his own.) Roger was just as drunk as the others, his laugh loud and bright over the din of the room and the boom of the record player. In between regaling tales of their misadventures, he would gaze over at Brian, who was in the middle of attempting to do the hula with Miami and Mary, a sappy and too sweet look on his face. Jim couldn't deny that the two of them were rather adorable together, and he was happy for the small part he played in helping their relationship survive. 

Roger rested his head against Jim's shoulder, humming contentedly. "Isn't this fun? You're having fun, right?"

"I am, although, I was promised by your friend on the phone that you'd be in a grass skirt and coconut bra," Jim drawled from behind the edge of his watermelon. He had a feeling they were running short on fruit for the cups, and were beginning to scrape the edge of the bowl. Pun intended. 

Roger cackled. "That was the original plan! But Brian got incredibly jealous, y'know, couldn't stand the thought of other's looking at my legs."

"They had sex with the skirt on and it got ruined," John informed him all blasé. Jim waited for Roger to deny it, but when he didn't, found that if it were anyone else, he would have been scandalised. And yet.

"You do have nice legs," Jim agreed with a shrug. Roger kissed his cheek in thanks, leaving behind a sticky print to match the red stain of Mary's lipstick on the other.

"Anyways, I think it's nice to get the chance to just all get together, relax, and have a good time," Roger continued. "I just wanted to be with the people who matter most, y'know?" 

"I know."

"Plus, Freddie always loves to throw a good party. Where is Freddie, anyways? He should be here!" Roger struggled to sit up, looking around. "Freddie!"

"Last I saw him, he was in the kitchen 'assisting' with the making of drinks," Veronica shrugged. She placed her drink down as she manoeuvred her way to her feet. "John, I have to use the toilet." 

"Okay," John nodded, turning over to Roger. "Maybe he's back there with Phoebe." 

"John." Veronica snapped her fingers in his face, her hands on her hips. "I have to _use the toilet_." 

John paused, staring up at her. Whatever he saw on her face pushed him to jump to his feet, crowding himself up against her and kissing her deeply. "Right," he panted, "toilet. We should, um, I'll help you, erm, find it." 

"Wonderful, thank you," she said before grabbing him by his hand and dragging him off in that general direction, the two of them giggling like children. Jim and Roger watched them disappear around the corner as they sipped their cocktails noisily. 

"They're gonna shag," Roger informed him unnecessarily. 

"Yes, thank you, Roger, I had figured that out myself." 

 

 

He waited until he finished the whole of his drink before Jim excused himself, struggling to get off the couch with what he assumed was an attempt at assistance from Roger, but was more akin to a grope. The only bathroom downstairs was still occupied, and from the sound of it, Veronica and John were in the middle of working on baby number two. Avoiding that mess with a ten foot pole, he stumbled his way towards the staircase, weaving his way up the wooden steps and bending at the waist to use his hands to crawl up to the second floor. 

The first door he opened revealed a linen closet. The second, a bedroom with no attached bathroom, and the third, a room with only a piano and fully stocked bar. It wasn't until the fourth that he found what was most likely the master bedroom, and, thankfully, a bathroom. Jim had never been more relieved to see a place where he could, well, _relieve_ himself. He peed for a year and some change. After a quick shake and a zip of his zipper, he washed his hands, patted them dry on his pants, and made to leave for the party when a soft _meow_ caught his attention.

Squinting around the alcohol swimming in his vision, Jim looked down to see a large, fluffy Persian grey cat, her big blue eyes staring up at him sweetly. Jim had never experienced love at first sight before, but he had a feeling it had to be akin to this. 

"Aren't you just the prettiest little thing in the world! What's your name, pretty girl?" Jim cooed, kneeling down to scoop the fluffy cat into his arms. Said cat purred, snuggling into his grasp, her claws flexing and releasing with each renewed hum. "You are just so precious, I want to eat you up with scones and jam." 

"Her name's Delilah," someone drawled from behind him. Jim gasped, tipping over off his knees to sprawl gracelessly onto his ass, his grip on the cat tightening, much to her displeasure. "And she's a right spoiled brat." 

"Sorry," Jim said, moving to put her down. "I didn't mean to intrude, I was just lookin' for the loos, and I heard her meowing. I didn't--"

"No, don't worry," the man smiled, pursing his lips slightly over too large teeth. Jim felt his heart stutter, just a little. "That's Delilah, don't tell the others, but she's my favorite. Romeo's over there, the tricky little boy, pretending he doesn't see us. And there, under the bed--if you look closely--is Lily. She's my sweet girl, aren't you, precious?" 

If what he felt for Delilah was love, this was something else entirely. The man was easily the most handsome man Jim had ever seen, with dark, warm eyes, a kind smile, and a thick moustache. He was wearing a _way_ too brightly garish Hawaiian shirt with bedazzled half naked surfers all over it and short little Bermuda shorts in neon pink. His lei was also fresh flowers, but they had been dipped in gold paint and glittered in the half-light. Jim was enchanted. 

The man came to crouch down next to Jim, curling his fingers tantalisingly towards the hidden cat. He looked up at Jim, mirth in his eyes. "She's never been one for strangers, unlike Delilah, the slag." 

Said cat purred louder. 

"Er, I'm Jim," he introduced himself awkwardly, struggling to free his hand for him to shake. Jim wanted nothing more than to touch the man, to see if his palm fit as nicely in his as Jim was imagining. Would his skin be as soft? 

"I figured, darling," the man laughed, reaching out to shake hands. Warmth pooled in the base of his stomach--his hands were not only as soft as he had hoped, but his fingertips were . Jim was going to have to buy Roger a million fruit baskets in thanks. "I know everyone else at this party, you're the only enigma. I'm Freddie Mercury." 

Jim could faintly hear glass shatter in his brain as dread hit him. This was Freddie Mercury, the man who's home he was in, who he had been so curt with on the phone. This man--this _beautiful_ man--whom he had hung up on. Twice. Jim wanted to throw himself off the balcony in embarrassment. 

Becoming aware of the fact that Jim had been staring at the man for the past thirty seconds, he mentally kicked himself. "Oh," Jim said. "Um, nice to meet you. You have a lovely home." 

"Oh, this old thing?" Freddie smiled, waving his hand around. "Thank you, you're too kind." 

"My entire flat could fit your kitchen," Jim told him stupidly. 

Freddie's smile turned more real, softening in the corners of his mouth. "If you can believe it, Roger and I used to live in a tiny little shithole over by Kensington Market. The bathroom was a closet, the bedrooms even smaller, and in the winter we could barely afford heating so we'd push our beds together instead. The moment I was able to afford this house, I snatched it up. No more getting elbowed in the kidney by that little terror just to stay warm." 

The image of the two of them being so poor they had to cuddle for warmth kicked him in the chest, like someone gripped his heart with both hands and yanked. 

"I'm sorry." Freddie turned away from the sympathy, closing himself off. Jim frowned before adding, lightheartedly, "But I can't imagine anything worse than having to share a bed with Roger. The man screams 'I steal all the blankets', and I can't live like that, let alone understand how Brian could." 

The warmth seemed to come back to Freddie's face as he huffed out a laugh behind his hand. "I've been told Roger is an excellent lay to make up for his faults in bed." 

Jim pulled a face at the image. "I'd rather not hear anything more. I feel like I was only just able to scrub my memories of the last time I had to hear in-depth about Brian and Roger's bedroom habits, I'd rather not relive them." 

"Fair enough," Freddie chuckled, moving to join Jim on the floor. "So, if you're no longer working at that terrible little pub by Church Lane, what do you do?" 

Jim looked down to where he had twined his fingers in Delilah's fur. "I'm a hairdresser, mostly. But when I can, I like to work on gardens. There's not as much work out now that it's autumn, but come spring, I'll have a handful of jobs here and there, working on the plants."

"That sounds serene. I've always loved the look of flowers and plants and all that, but I've got two brown thumbs. I've never been able to keep anything alive longer than a week or two." 

"See, so many people say that," Jim said, breathing in deep as he began to get riled up. "It's so upsetting, because most people just start off with _difficult_ plants, and then think they're bad! If a beginner tries to keep African Violets alive without knowing that they need a specific climate to survive, then of course it'll die! But if they get a spider plant, or a cactus, well, I bet you'd be able to keep that alive!" 

Freddie bit his lip, but said nothing. Jim took that as a sign to continue, and he did. 

"Gardening is an _art_ , alright? Parent's don't expect their children to paint a Da Vinci if they've never picked up a paintbrush, so why do people expect the same results with their plants? You have to study them, you have to _learn_ about what they need. I mean, for fuck's sake, it's not that hard!" 

"I never knew that gardeners felt so strongly about their work," Freddie commented. 

Jim shrugged, bashful. "I'm sure anyone who likes their job feels the same. I mean, you must--erm, what do you do?" 

Freddie looked taken aback, but recovered quickly with a wave of his hand and a confident grin. "Why, darling, I'm Freddie Mercury!" 

Jim cocked an eyebrow. "I...I know? You introduced yourself to me, just a mo--literally, just a moment ago. I'm Jim Hutton, you're Freddie Mercury." 

It was stupidly cute, how confused Freddie looked. "No, what I mean is, I'm a singer. I'm in a band." 

"Oh, okay," Jim nodded. "Sorry, I don't really listen to the radio all that much. I usually just stick with my records--it's easier than having to hear stuff I don't like." 

"I can understand that; not everyone likes rock and roll," Freddie shrugged. "What kind of records do you like to listen to?"

"Erm, I really love The Mama's and The Papa's," he confessed with a short little laugh. "And Carole King--have you listened to _Tapestry_? I could listen to that on repeat for _hours_."

Freddie leaned in closer, tickling Delilah under her chin as he slowly began to hum under his breath. Jim was able to faintly place it as _You Make Me Feel (Like A Natural Woman)_ , his heart turning somersaults in his chest. 

He managed to get a good look at Freddie and was transfixed by the look in his eyes. Jim had never met someone with eyes so warm, so kind, or even so lovely. He felt rather like a butterfly in glass, trapped beneath something so small yet so powerful. He wanted nothing more than the reach out and trace the fine smile lines in the corners, to run his fingers down his cheeks to see if his skin was as smooth as it looked. He wanted to press his nose into the curve of his neck where it met his shoulder and just breathe in his cologne. He wanted so much, and wanted all Freddie could give, to feel the weight of his chest against his, or the warmth of his leg just pressed against his. He wanted to hold his hand, to hear him laugh in the late evening on Jim's too old couch, to hear him sing in the morning while they cooked breakfast. He wanted everything and he wanted all. 

But he couldn't. 

So he drew back, clearing his throat as he looked down at Delilah, watching his fingers open and close in her soft fur. 

"D'you--d'you think maybe they're looking for us downstairs?" he asked carefully, making it sound less like a question and more like a suggestion. Next to him, Freddie coughed, moving to stand. 

"Most likely. You can never leave Roger alone for too long, he gets into too much trouble." 

"I'm more worried about Deaky and Ronnie," Jim confessed. "Also, I think you need to hire some cleaners for your downstairs bathroom." 

Freddie groaned long and loud. Jim's mouth went dry at the sound, a blush flooding up on his cheeks. 

"I swear to god, I told them last time that bathroom was off limits after what they did to it!" 

 

By the time they had gotten downstairs, the party appeared to have died down a little, leaving only a few stragglers behind. Brian and Roger were dancing rather suggestively over in the corner to a slow Fleetwood Mac song, while Mary laid stretched out on the couch blowing smoke circles into the air. John and Veronica had reemerged from the toilet, disheveled, and if anything, more obvious than before. They weren't even trying to hide what they had done, if the scarlet grin John was wearing was anything to go by. The buttons of his shirt were completely misaligned, matching the back of Veronica's sundress, which was only half-zipped. John noticed Jim staring, and raised a hand in greeting.

"Jim," he slurred, blinking heavily. "You found Freddie!" Jim nodded. 

"That I did, mate. You might want to rethink that shade of lippy, though, it's not quite your color." 

"Shh, baby, don't listen to him," Veronica said, not even opening her eyes as she pressed her finger hard against John's lip. Jim noticed the soft pressed kiss against the tip, and his heart let out a little pang. "I think it makes y'look pretty." 

"You heard the lady," Freddie crowed, skipping over to the two to flop down on the floor next to them. "John, you're a very pretty man." 

"I'll drink to that," Mary agreed with a long exhale of smoke. "Freddie, dear, what happened to your drink? Do you need another?" 

"I rather think I do, darling. Would anyone else like anything?" 

"Roger wants a piña colada," Brian called, one hand tangled in Roger's hair he sucked a hickey onto the fine curve of Brian's neck, the other firmly shoved down the back pocket of Roger's jeans. "I'll take another beer."

Veronica slurred out something that sounded like 'piña colada', but was lost to the meat of John's shoulder. 

"Alright, so that's two fruity cocktails, one beer, unless--John? Okay, two beers. Mary, my love, would you like something?" Freddie counted the drink order off the tips of his fingers, completely missing the shock that had smacked Jim in the face. Mary--that's how he knew her--she had been with Roger that night. She was the blonde one, the only who had been curled around Freddie in the booth, clearly on a date. No wonder she had been the one to usher him into the house, it must be _her_ house--her's and Freddie's. Jim felt like a complete fool, wishing for Freddie to make a move when he was clearly in a relationship with a woman. 

"Jim, darling, would you be so kind as to assist me with the drinks?" Freddie asked, batting his lashes rapidly. "I'm terrible with a blender--almost took off my own hand last summer trying to make margaritas."

"Sure," Jim said stiffly, trying to force down the nauseous humiliation that was sitting firmly on the back of his tongue. Ignoring the odd look Freddie gave him as he hurried past him into the kitchen, Jim assured himself that he would make the drinks, say goodbye to Roger before he ran upstairs with Brian, and go home to his little flat, alone. There at least he could cry out his woes of once more falling for a straight man, and vow never to answer the door to Roger Taylor again. 

 

"Y'know, Roger has always talked about how wonderful your little drinks are," Freddie confessed as he watched Jim work from his perch on an opposite counter. "Was always going on about 'lovely Jim's lovely piña coladas'; really, dear, it was just sickening. But now, I must say, I am intrigued to see for myself." 

"I just follow the recipe, that's all," Jim grunted, measuring out the ingredients. Freddie had clearly bought out a bar what with all the different types and brands of alcohol, all top shelf, of course. "Except for Ronnie. She's getting a virgin--"

"Oh dearest, she already did! She even married the lucky boy, just popped out her own little one just two months ago to prove it," Freddie cackled wickedly. Jim had to bite down on his lip to keep himself from bursting out with laughter himself. 

"Don't let John hear you say that," Jim warned, pointing a solid silver jigger in his direction. "I have a feeling that man neither forgives _nor_ forgets." 

Freddie flapped his hands, dismissing his comment. Jim worked in silence, methodically going through the motions to create a drink that was, by now, familiar. It was hard to work with the weight of Freddie's gaze on him, but he did what he could, trying to focus on his task and not on the man whom he would like no more than to shove up against the closest wall and devour. 

"Are you single?" Freddie asked suddenly, causing Jim to fumble with a bottle of rum and the jigger, spilling alcohol all over the table and his hands. "Oh, fuck, I'm sorry, I startled you--"

"No, no, it's fine, it's my fault," Jim babble. Using a dishtowel, he attempted to mop up the spill before scurrying to the sink to wash his hands. "Erm, yes, actually, I'm single. Just got out of a relationship." 

Freddie hummed, reaching over to grab at cherry from the dish to pop in his mouth. _Sweet Mary, Mother of God, if that man pulls out a knotted stem, I'm going to faint right here in the kitchen,_ Jim thought in horror, unsure of whether he'd rather Freddie did so, or not. In the end, it didn't matter as Freddie yanked the stem off with one hand and threw the fruit in his mouth with the other. Jim swallowed carefully before forcing himself back towards the blender.

"So, erm, how long have you been with Mary?" he asked carefully, watching from the corner of his eye as Freddie opened his mouth to speak. The moment he heard him begin to say something, he turned the blender on, drowning him out. "Oh, shit," he lied, "sorry, didn't mean to. What did you say?" 

"I said--"

Jim pressed the button again, pretending to fumble with the blender. "Sorry! Don't know what's gotten into this!" 

Freddie hopped off the counter and strolled over to him, laying his hand over Jim's and pressing the off button himself. Jim was horribly aware of how close they were, of how _good_ Freddie smelled. He could practically count every individual eyelash. 

"I was saying," Freddie smiled, almost flirtatiously, "that Mary and I have known each other a long time. But we've long since broken up. She's missing a certain... _qualification_." 

Jim felt like he couldn't breathe. "Oh?"

"In fact, I'm as single as you are, still looking for _Mr._ Right," Freddie continued. Their hands were still touching. 

"Oi! How long does it take to make a cocktail?" Roger bellowed from the living room, forcing the two of them to jump away. 

"Fuckin' Roger," Freddie growled under his breath. "So damn impatient." 

Jim hurriedly pouring the drinks--making sure Veronica's was properly labeled--and gathered the various husks of fruit into his arms. Knocking his head in the direction of the three uncapped beers still on the counter, he turned back to Freddie. "Shall we?" 

Freddie nodded, grabbed the beers, and followed him back towards his friends. 

"One for you, and one for you, and Ronnie, here's one just for you." Jim distributed the allotted drinks to the right person, making sure Ronnie was able to grasp the drink. John made to take it from her, but Jim stopped him with a hand to his arm. "It's _specially_ made," he murmured, winking just to make sure he understood. John relaxed, whispering his thanks. 

"Is mine special, too, Jim?" Roger cooed from his perch in Brian's lap, simpering sweetly. 

"'Course it is, Rog, I made sure Freddie spat in it," Jim said dryly, waiting to until Roger had taken his first big sip. Eyes comically wide, Roger gasped, choked, and sputtered out a sloppy mess of colada after a few harsh slaps on the back from Brian. 

"Jesus Christ Almighty, Roger are you alright?" Jim gaped, staring at the panting blond. Roger glared weakly, coughing wetly.

"Ignore the drama queen, it's nothing he hasn't experience before," Freddie teased, trading Jim a beer for the last cocktail. "Brian's put him through much worse; at least piña colada tastes better." 

This time it was Brian who snorted beer out of his nose, much to the enjoyment of the group. Roger practically hauled Brian off his feet, tugging the scarlet-faced man into the kitchen so as to clean themselves off, all the while muttering about how he needed a new set of friends. 

"When you're done, bring back the Scrabble box!" Mary called, turning towards Jim. "This is the best damn drink I've ever had. Can you give me the recipe?"

"I dunno _what_ Roger was talkin' bout, though," Veronica said sadly, pushing herself upright off John's chest. "There's like, no rum in this." 

 

 

Brian and Roger remerged ten minutes later--Brian had a new shirt on, this time with hula dancers and palm trees, while Roger had forgone his shirt completely in favor of a coconut bra. 

"My God, Rog, put that away!" John yelped, covering his and Veronica's eyes. "No one wants to see that!" 

Veronica's wolf whistle proved him wrong as she peeked through his fingers, winking appreciatively. 

"It's not half bad," Mary grinned salaciously, blowing smoke in his direction. "Nice catch, Brian." 

"Mary, please, I am more than a pair of great tits and a killer ass," Roger said primly as he climbed gracefully into Brian's lap. "I'm a fuckin' lady." 

"I'd drink to that, but I was taught never to tell a lie." 

"Rog, aren't you cold?"

"Absolutely not! A hoe never gets cold."

"Fred, we're gonna have to sell more records so I can afford the therapy I'm gonna need to forget this night." 

"Rog, where'd you get that, anyway? I want one," Veronica asked. "John, what do you think?"

"Nope, nope, absolutely not, do not answer that, do not pass go." Freddie threw himself across the room to press his hand against John's mouth, turning to glare at Veronica. "You two have already defiled my bathroom, I'll not have you defile my living room. If you're so desperate for baby number two, take yourselves home and do it there." 

"But that's not as fun," Veronica said sadly. 

"Here, here," Brian shockingly agreed, toasting to the room with his bottle. Roger preened, shifting slightly. 

"I have sobered up too much for this," Jim announced as he finished his beer, reaching for Freddie's abandoned drink. "Do not speak to me again until I have finished this." 

Mary let out a long groan, tossing a throw pillow so it smacked Brian on the side of the head. "Can we please just start playing?" 

"Too many people." John gestured with his beer bottle, cuddling a sleepy Veronica even closer. 

"No worries, we can play in teams," Freddie suggested, tugging the box out from under the couch. "You and Veronica, of course; Brian and Roger; Mary, you can hold your own, and then me and Jim." 

Jim steadfastly ignored the gymnast currently performing a spectacular routine of flips and tricks in the pit of his stomach in favor of clambering down on the floor next to Freddie. The heat of their legs pressed together threatened to burn him down. He was going to need a hell of a lot more drinks to get through the night. 

 

 

He didn't have to wait too long. It only took an hour before Veronica had listed completely off John's lap, snuggling herself up under the coffee table with her feet in his lap. This didn't seem to bother John in the slightest, as he nodded off in between rounds, waking only when Freddie nudged his ribs with one foot. Roger had long abandoned the game in favor of chatting with Mary around jaw breaking yawns. It seemed as though the only ones still interested were Brian, Freddie, and Jim himself. However, Brian was the one to officially call it, throwing in his tiles and pulling Roger up to his feet. 

"Sorry, lads, but if we're going to be anywhere close to coherent tomorrow, we should be getting going," he yawned as slapped Roger on his bum, forcing him to get moving towards the door. "Fred, the party was magnificent, thanks for throwing it." 

"Of course, my dear, anything for you two!" 

Roger bid them all farewell, allowing Brian to push him gently towards the door, but not before climbing onto Jim for a farewell cuddle and a promise that they would see each other soon. Jim waved them off as Brian led the drunker man towards the exit. 

Jim stretched his arms over his head with a grunt before dropping them to scratch at his belly. He felt heavy and slow with sleep and alcohol, almost as though he were wading through pudding. There was a faint pounding of a headache already forming behind his eyes, warning him of the pitiful morning facing him. But that was Future Jim's problem--Present Jim only wanted his bed and maybe, if he were lucky, a slice of pizza. 

He mulled over where he might be able to find a pizza parlour open at this hour as he watched John struggle to scoop a still sleeping Veronica up in his arms--which terrified Jim, as he absolutely did not want to witness him dropping her.

"We're going to head home as well, Fred," John yawned, weaving slightly towards the front door. Freddie bid them goodnight with a kiss pressed against both their cheeks, waving them off and closing the door behind them. 

Mary, too, yawning heavily, waved away any offers of spending the night upstairs, drunkenly made her way out the door and down the stairs, heading just next door to her own flat, stumbling slightly in the grass as she wove back and forth towards the gate. 

"Dearest, please flash the light so I know you made it back," Freddie called, watching her narrowly avoid a trip into the bushes with sheer luck and drunken equilibrium. "And, she's out through the gate! Houston, we have lift off!"

"I don't know how she was still able to walk, she had at least three more drinks than I did, and I'm finding it hard to even stand right now," Jim confessed, trying to casually lean against the wall in what he hoped was a suave manner, instead of being the only thing that was holding him up.

"Mary has the liver of a Russian and the composure of a ballerina. I once saw her finish a bottle of tequila with Roger. I was convinced we'd find Mary dead the next morning, curled up in the bathroom, but instead the madwoman had gone out for an early morning _jog_. Inhuman, I tell you!" 

"And Roger?" 

Freddie blushed, rubbing the back of his neck before expertly changing the subject. "I have to say, darling, I'm so glad you were able to make it tonight. We all thought Roger a fool for tracking you down, but--" He held out his hands like a magician. "Here you are!" 

"Here I am," Jim repeated, allowing himself to sway ever so slightly closer to Freddie. He miscalculated, though, and stumbled way closer than intended, practically falling into Freddie. In his panic, he ended up putting his hand on Freddie's chest ( _hard yet soft oh my god stop thinking_ ) to steady himself, while Freddie's hands came to rest on his hips. 

"Whoa, careful there," Freddie huffed out a laugh, steadying him. Jim had never been more mortified and yet more turned on in his life. "Precious cargo, and all that." 

"You're sweet," Jim blurted out. "It's stupid cute."

"And you're drunk."

Jim readied himself with a deep breath, reaching down to take Freddie's hand in his, interlacing their fingers. Now or never. "I won't be tomorrow, you know."

Freddie smiled, squeezing their fingers. "Is that so?" 

"Yep, Jim Hutton guarantee."

"Well, in that case. Can I call you tomorrow?" Freddie asked, almost shy. That damned gymnast was doing more flips in his stomach. 

"Oh, God, no," Jim said with a shake of his head, watching as Freddie's face fell. He stepped back, but Jim immediately stepped forward, still clutching his hand. "I've had so much rum tonight, I don't plan on leaving my bed at all tomorrow unless to get food and tea. You can call me Monday, when I'll be more inclined and more able to pick up the phone." Freddie let out a bark of laughter, any uncertainty flying away. Jim wanted to press a kiss into every corner and smile line one his face. 

"Alright, darling, Monday it is." Biting his lip, Freddie reached down to pull a flower free from his lei. With hesitant hands, he slowly raised the flower up towards Jim's left ear, tucking it behind gently. "There, perfect." 

Jim's heart just managed to win the gold medal for it's floor routine across his rib cage. 

"I'll look forward to Monday for the first time in my life," Jim promised, reaching up to grab Freddie's hand again to interlace their fingers. "Don't leave me hanging, alright?"

"I'll call you first thing in the morning," Freddie said with a dangerous glint in his eye. Jim pulled a face. 

"Alright, no, c'mon, be nice. Don't call me before nine am, alright? Otherwise you can't call me until Tuesday." 

It was Freddie's turn to pull a face. "Darling, please, who says I'll be awake before noon?"

"Noon it is." Jim sealed the deal with a brave, yet chaste, kiss to Freddie's cheek. "I'll wait for your call." 

Freddie looked absolutely dazed, reaching up to press his fingers to his cheek. Licking his lips, he blinked slowly up at Jim. "Sure I couldn't convince you to just spend the night here? I've got a spare bedroom, and I could get someone to bring you your tea and food to the bed." 

"Goodnight, Freddie," Jim sighed, rolling his eyes. Staggering down the steps, Jim turned back to shout drunkenly back at Freddie, illuminated against the dark by the light of his front hall. "Monday! Don't forget to call!" 

"I'll be waiting until then with bells on my toes," Freddie promised, raising one hand in farewell. Jim matched his movement for a long moment before finally turning away and stumbling back into the night.

 

True to his word, the phone rang on Monday at exactly noon. Jim, who had been pretending to wash the one plate in his sink for the past forty-five minutes, dashed to the phone, throwing the sponge willy-nilly into the soapy water. 

"Hello?" he breathed, clutching at the receiver with shaking hands. 

_"Jim, darling? It's Freddie. How are you?"_

Closing his eyes tight, Jim pressed his fingers against his lips, remembering the feel of Freddie's cheek and the scent of his cologne. Taking a deep breath, Jim relaxed against his cabinet, twirled his finger into the chord, and finally, finally, allowed himself to fall, a smile blooming tight and fierce across his cheeks. 

"That depends--Freddie, who?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it, lovelies! Jim and Freddie get their beginning, while Roger and Brian are happy being that couple that's so sweet you hate them. Also Veronica and John have decided to put off adopting Roger in favor of making their own children. 
> 
> Just to make you guys 'awwww' (hopefully) even more, in Hawaiian culture, a flower over the left ear means that you are taken. So when Freddie sticks the flower behind Jim's ear, he's basically staying STEP OFF HE'S MINE
> 
> There will be more of this 'verse to follow, so please keep an eye out! In the meantime, all of your feedback and responses have meant so much to me, I can't begin to express how much I love all of you!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into the world of a) RPF and b) the Queen fandom. Be kind. This was 100% a fever dream based off the episode "Party of Six" from season two of _Happy Endings_
> 
> (If you're wondering _why_ I chose the acclaimed masterpiece known as _Escape (The Piña Colada Song)_ as the title it's because that song is about going to break up with your significant other only to realize they were the best person for you the whole time. Also it fucking slaps.)


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